He had had to fight for long years in London for recognition, and might never have won it only that he had got away as a war correspondent for the Daily Thunderer for a year with the Boers, and his articles had charmed everyone. He was a sizzling imperialist. Rhodes had condescended to him, Kipling patted him on the back, Barney Barnato nudged him in the ribs. He was on the way to a title and all that. What he needed to complete him was a wealthy and influential marriage. Only now could he afford to emphasise his Australian nativity and turn it to commercial account.

He had always kept in touch with the Press Association and while out was to do some articles on Australia from an imperial angle which would appear in The Thunderer and The Argus, or perhaps it was The Age,—I can’t tell these two apart. He was also connected with a leading publishing house, and if he saw anything worth picking up, was to pick it up. This gave him great importance among us poor LOCAL CACKLERS, of which I was the localest and least. If he could, without compromising his status and deteriorating his attainments, he would insert an Australian character or scene in his next comedy. His former set was jubilant about this. He was trumpeted as a good Australian. Zoë did not tell us all this on the telephone at that moment. This was pieced together later from different sources of information or misinformation.

What Zoë said, and the reason she said some of it was because she ranked Mr. Goring Hardy very high as one who both did and had. She said that to meet him was a unique chance and would be an education for a little girl like me. He thought there was promise in my book, though he did not approve of its point of view. It was possible, Zoë said, that something might come to me through his interest, but she did not want the poor little thing: to be hurt in any way. Goring was a fascinating fellow and he might take the imagination of a girl reared in seclusion. Too many strings had harped to his bow. Zoe’s advice was that I should not be too accessible. “He wants her to call at his office at Cunningham and Bucklers, but he must meet the poor little thing in the proper way.”

“I’ll see to that,” said Mrs Crasterton.

“I want to have her here, but I haven’t a spare hour this week,” said Zoe.

Mrs. Crasterton turned to me. “He must come to us. I shall let him see that you are a celebrity too.”

She telephoned to the Union Club for Mr. Hardy to call her, and he did. He started by ordering that I should be sent to him—like a girl from a registry office seeking employment.

“He does feel his oats,” remarked Mrs. Crasterton. aside. “But my people were bishops and generals when his were mere market gardeners.”